


Cry Sometimes

by clownerooni



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Canon, Post-Game(s), Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 20:08:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21397924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clownerooni/pseuds/clownerooni
Summary: Dave wakes up to his unrelenting thoughts.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	Cry Sometimes

It was one of those 'cannot even get a wink of sleep' nights and what's more unappealing than losing out on sleep was that usually meant dave was trapped in an endless whirlpool of unrelenting shit thoughts that he didn't even want to be thinking about in the first place. 

It firstly reminds him of the many other sleepless nights he spent at his computer, music in his ears, the 2 chat windows open in front of him. It felt impossible that's where they were at some point and his heart takes a moment to ache in the nostalgic pool.  
Jade was usually out like a light like she was most of the time but John and Rose would entertain him. Rose talking about her wizard fanfics and John talking about how much he wants to do with him and their friends when they all get to meet-  
and he now realizes it would distract him from the apparent fucked reality of his childhood.. 

And that drove him crazy, up the wall, made him all sorts of bonkers over it. He usually gets so mad he wants to smash his fists into something, anything, and he feels like he never had that issue before.  
What made him so spiteful and violently reactive to the things that upset him?  
Was realizing this less helpful and more destructive to him in the end?  
No no, he talked about this so many times with Rose, it was best to face the facts even if it sucks, because it feels better. It does not feel better looking up to some sort of fake mentor, someone who should have been more of a caretaker. 

Dave presses his hands to his eyes hard and throws himself onto his side. Don't think about this right now...  
**Sometimes he feels like he's still in that stuffy apartment, maybe because he has his room styled to his interests... which are mostly the same.  
He takes a moment to realize this more thoroughly.  
Turntables, cords trailing everywhere, down to the weird collectibles that of which Karkat had actually donated generously too.**

****

****

Dave turns the other way and stares holes into the wall. For whatever reason he really doesn't want Karkat to be tarnished by his not good thoughts.  
He never likes mingling them with the good.  
His eyes flick to his phone, and he picks it up to look at the time. 3:34 A.M.  
He tosses it aside and groans into his pillow.  
What did Rose say?  
Count. Count like non-stop because it'll make thinking a lot harder.  
Dave closes his eyes and breathes as evenly as he can.

1\. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13.

He gets this weird feeling, like some sort of rush- and he feels the stuffy yet cold inners of a fridge. His eyes snap open.  
God damn this is really how it's gonna be huh? 

His body kind of coils into itself absentmindedly, and the dam metaphorically and internally cracked.  
Welp he's thinking about a blurry image of his bro, looking down at him with his angled shades and a tight frown that spiked fear in Dave's chest in real time.  
It was definitely a frown of disappointment and usually this is when Dave was bleeding profusely from some wound he wasn't able to defend against.. efficiently enough? 

His eyes screwed up tight.  
How old was he?  
When he first started learning how to sword fight and stuff. He got his first sword when he was five and he only knows that because there was photo evidence of it in the Official Strider Photo Album™.  
That whole thing was terrible.  
Dave's hands tighten into fists in his hair.  
Not now. Maybe after this post traumatic stroll. 

He remembers resisting.  
Kind of half assed because he was scared out of his little 10 year old mind but oh, also he needed to stay collected.  
He was used to this. Definitely used to this.  
He cringed at the all too quick step by step of his back hitting the wall of the fridge and seeing the cold look on his brothers face and then the door slamming shut while Dave is shrouded in darkness.

Time was lost very easily in there.  
It would feel like days until he was let out 14 hours later.  
He at least had water to drink but he would be hungry as fuck and everytime Bro opened the fridge to let him out, he would casually, shaking like a leaf, get up and turn around, grab the pizza rolls out of the freezer and start the oven up.  
Bro’s already gone.  
Dave would get this urge to drag himself right back up to the roof and take his brother on again just to prove his spirit.  
But then he patches himself up instead. Goes to his room with his pizza rolls and idly makes some slow beats.

That's not the point but weird details like that led him to the realization that he even had a fucking punishment hole.  
How could he be so stupid?  
It was so obvious.

His teeth ground together tight.  
Little dude Dave would think a lot.  
What can he do to improve, how can he learn to use his swords accurately, how can he make his brother bleed too?  
And he does, he actually eventually does and Dave is ecstatic, Bro flashes him a thumbs up and then kicks his ass harder than ever before. Tells him not to be too cocky.  
Not to be too cocky?

Dave can't help all this bullshit anymore.  
The amount of tension in his body was through the roof and the immediate threat vibes were coursing through the room and bouncing off the walls and right back at him.  
But his mind was like fuck it all and fuck you too, Dave.  
His gut was wrenching, maybe he would throw up and have that to focus on instead.  
But that actually sounds terrible, he would really like to not vomit?

But how much worse was it to be sobbing or excited or angry, only for all of it to be stifled.  
Any ability to control emotion was made irrelevant. Was it really better not showing an ounce of dread or fear when he was genuinely battling his caretaker or getting beat up by him.  
Dave isn't sure if he's figured that out yet.

Did he feel anything?  
No, no, of course he did, he feels it now.  
Disgust.  
Shame. 

Suddenly the air is pungent, different entirely from the last sensation.  
He smells strong alcohol and he thinks about the time his brother was more talkative, still hardly emoting but a showing a definite shift.  
H was talking about smuppets.  
He was always fucking talking about smuppets.  
And he always felt horribly uncomfortable and put off by those things.  
He saw the videos and the pictures and- and- Raw fucking fear grasped him by the throat, had him sweating, shaking.  
Everything was buzzing.

Dirk. Dirk. He wants to talk to Dirk, Dirk always knows what to say.  
The screen of his phone was so bright and he notices his hands trembling when he opens their chat.  
His fingers fly around the keyboard to type something out of desperation, thinking about being in the comforting presence of him.  
He was always warm but firm, not rough at all, not glowering, respectful.  
His fingers slow, realizing that he's never seen a smile on Dirk's face.

Never mind. Never mind about all of that.  
He trashes all the words and throws his phone down toward the end of his bed. Then he pulls the covers up and wraps himself up in them.  
His shakes are making him feel cold like the lip of the bottle of vodka Bro was shoving into Dave's mouth.  
It burns- burned down his throat.  
But he thinks bro is laughing and enjoying himself and Dave feels like he can smile.

Blurry blurry blurry.  
There was something that convinced Dave to crawl up and straddle this man, this person he had to trust.  
His pants were down, exposing him, and he doesn't know how he got here. 

"This is good for the website."

God, what?  
It was like he knew exactly what to say to torment Dave, like he knew those words would go through his damn head every time he thought about… thought about

how numb he was from how long he was being fondled.  
After all it's always about groping those plush-

No.  
There's fingers in places they really shouldn't be.  
Dave flinches and rolls one way.

All on camera, why for so long?  
He rolls the other way, his chest heaving and wheezing.  
Did he even fight? 

He doesn't know and it scares him so much when he doesn't know.

It was cold, thick, hard, hot- 

Dave shot up from bed, his eyes flying open and releasing the tears that were building up like skyscrapers.  
The wet tears were falling in blobs down his face, as freely as they did when he hadn't cried in a while, which was pretty much every time.  
He hadn't realized how deep he was into this panic attack, but it's at least a little relieving to cry.  
He stood abruptly onto his two wobbly legs, and feels for his shades on his nightstand, hands still absurdly trembling, and managed to get them onto his sticky face.  
He turned and took wide paces to the door to escape the small, suffocating space to gladly leave behind all those thoughts in his haste, at least for now. 

But his hand slips off the door handle and he fumbles slamming his body flush against the door. It sends him into a frenzy and he's looking back and forth from his room and the door like he's being chased, hands moving hurriedly until his fingers find purchase and he's flinging himself out of his room.  
The air of the hallway is cool and odd, it makes his tension waver, if only the slightest amount.

He shuts the door quietly behind him and practically drags himself down the way and into the kitchen.  
He braces himself on the fridge and pulls it open to grab a fresh water bottle. Then chugs a fourth of it.  
He still feels a muted discomfort settling over him.  
There is no discernable reason for it to feel like it just happened all over again.  
But it sure did.

He feels like taking a hot shower but he just showered not even 5 hours ago. He glances at the clock on the oven. Okay, make that 6 hours ago. Either way he can still smell the shampoo in his hair. 

He downs more water until he's too nauseous halfway through that he can't stomach it.  
The cup makes a hollow thunk against the table when Dave sets it down.

His legs feel boneless and they take him down to the floor where complete emptiness settles on him.  
He was sitting there, really sinking into the thick sensation of that pre-breakdown zone, and it starts with low short breaths that he's having a hard time catching.  
His body seizes and he buries his face into his knees with a silent sob, some sort of whisper of a whine.  
The weight in his chest is heavy and almost painful. 

With all of the tears falling, there's no chance of this train stopping but even then, he stifles the noise.  
It must be so rough on his body by tensing and trying so hard to keep it in.  
It should feel a lot better than this to cry but it doesn't.  
Not when doing it in the first place makes him feel repulsion and horror.  
And god he hated feeling that way about it, he knew it was good to cry, he knew he shouldn't be afraid.

His hand trails up to push beneath his shades and brushes it across his soaking cheek, going up to his elbow and leaving a wet trail up his sleeve. Then he did the same with the other.  
It was childish and honestly pretty fucking gross, but Dave wanted those tears gone.  
Out of the stratosphere.  
Out of existence actually.

Why did this happen, how could it happen, why did he even remember this shit?  
Did it really have to come back to him? 

Finally his glasses fell to the floor and he just kept his arm to his eyes instead.  
So much for hiding his meltdown from the appliances and the fly on the wall.  
He started forcing deep but quick breaths to pull himself together right the hell now. 

He realizes his mumbling mantra of “I don't know"s and he really doesn't… know.  
It was happening up until he was 13 and he still thought he had the coolest brother in the fucking world.  
Talked him up all the time, still strived to be like him, to fight like him, to make him proud.  
But how could he be so fucking STUPID? 

Dave's eyes roll back and his head hits the flat face cupboard behind him. What an absolute mess.  
He cries even harder into himself, he can really feel his heart pounding and the sound of it in his ears was enough to put him on edge but it's the wet and powerful sniffle that sends him to a really, really bad place real quick. 

He cannot be heard, he'll come out and find him crying, he can't deal with him looking at Dave with stern disappointment and then shutting the light back off on him. Dave would either cry more with shame or stop himself entirely. 

But- fuck that doesn't happen here.  
He needs to cry.  
That's what Rose Lalonde has told him a million and one times.  
She's smart as hell and knows what she's talking about David.. damn he needs to talk more.  
Even Rose doesn't know the trauma to this extent. Of course not, Dave couldn't tell a single damn soul to end his life.  
He feels guilty for being so secretive. With her. With Karkat… 

Dave cries for a good 15 uninterrupted minutes of wispy whimpering without more than a squeak or a hiccup here or there and it hurts and gives him a whopping headache.  
In the end he knows he should get up. Blow his nose, drink water, ya know. The post breakdown shit. 

He actually grabs an off brand coke instead which is fine too, right? He needs a good pick-me up. He doesn't even open it yet and grabs a tissue off the counter and roughly dries off his tears and blows his nose out entirely to clear himself up. And then he rips open that soda. 

That whole breakdown thing feels kind of silly now. Though his mind wanders to the reason for just a moment and he jolts back like it physically hurt to step there.  
All he knows is that after all that, he's pretty damn tired.  
Or at least his eyelids feel super heavy. 

He picks his shades up off the floor and, of course, slides them back on, then picks up his water and his soda and starts his vaguely more confident trek down the hallway.  
Now that he wasn't in a complete and utter panic, he was able to notice a purple light coming from beneath the door of Karkat's room.  
He pauses with no thought. 

Purple light absolutely means Karkat is awake.  
Of course he would be, couldn't he take a moment to remember that Karkat stays up late most nights?

Dave isn't worried Karkat heard, nothing like that.  
The guy is always blasting music or podcasts in his ears. But he does feel some kind of pull to the room, it brings another stinging feeling to his eyes and he twitches his lips instinctively to keep it at bay.  
It would feel a hell of a lot safer than his room right now.  
Way safer.  
He glances to his door and stares wide eyed at its grim darkened appearance. 

Returning to the purple light he feels tempted.  
He steps up and has to breathe in real deep to bring his fist to the door.  
He knows he has to knock loud enough.  
Has to try about 4 times because either way it'll be a resounding-

“FUCK, WHAT?”  
Dave's mouth stretches into some sort of minor fraction of a smile.  
“Dude, if I had known you were awake I would have knocked an hour ago.”  
He notices how forlorn he starts out and halfway through tilts it back to his more cocky attitude. He can't remember if his voice trembled. 

“WHEN do I ever sleep early, Dave? Are you seriously- fuck, you're fucking with me and that's a really sad joke. Thank you so much.”  
He can hear the sound of Karkat's rolly-chair scooting across the floor and Dave feels this uplifting sensation, how this seems to always be there no matter what. Even when the tone was cold, or tense. 

“Whatever man, gonna let me in?”  
He knows he doesn't have to ask because he's already hearing the door knob turning and then here's Karkat standing a solid 11 inches shorter than himself, glaring up at him with the fiery gaze of a million warriors. However, there's always a hint of softness somewhere. 

“Come in cluster fuck.” He spits, unfortunately literally, and turns around to stalk back to his chair.  
Dave takes a casual stroll inside and kicks the door shut behind him, Karkat fucking hates leaving the door open.  
And it floods the room a complete purple, it always looked so cool, it tripped him out and made the room look like he could swim in it. 

He sets his things down on a little crab shaped footstool and floats up.  
He could definitely swim in it.

Karkat rolled his eyes and Dave floats his sorry ass down right onto the troll's sopor filled mattress. It was cool to the touch. 

He takes note that Karkat goes right back to what he was doing but keeps his earplugs hanging around his shoulders.  
He was alert, he was present, he wanted to talk to Dave, he wanted to listen to Dave..

Man, what would he do without this.

He leans his head back on the big thick spongy pillow beneath him and stares up at the ceiling.  
Just being around someone else, far from his own thoughts and knowing he can talk if he feels comfortable. Or not. It was all he could ever ask for.

Karkat sighs and actually just looks at Dave for a lingering few moments. Karkat gets emotions, it wouldn't be surprising if the guy could tell from the moment Dave spoke that he was just bawling. 

He took a moment to feel a little embarrassed, and deflated. He knew more than anything that his friend cared for him enough to notice and immediately his eyes well up again.  
There's such a long stretch of silence the first thing spoken is almost swallowed whole.

“I think I'm really fucked up” Dave says.


End file.
